An Unfamiliar Path
by Elenaiel
Summary: A NEW LOVE REWRITE. What if Celebrian had been rescued in time? What if she never sailed? The twins never lost their innocence. Arwen never resided in Lorien. Estel's future - and the future of Middle Earth - has changed forever...
1. Chapter One

**A New Love**

**By**: Elenaiel

**Rating**: PG 13 (T)

**Warnings**: AU. Angst, blood, and drama.

**Summary**: What would've happened if Celebrían had been rescued in time? Arwen never resided in Lórien. Estel resides with two foster-parents instead of one. The twins never lost their innocence. The future of Middle-Earth is altered forever, and we can only watch as its inhabitants attempt to adjust.

**Spoilers**: None.

**Disclaimer**: I am playing in Tolkein's sandbox. I do not make money or get compensation of any sort for writing this. I own only the plotline.

**Feedback**: elenaiel (at) rocketmail (dot) com (or the review button typically works well). Constructive criticism is welcome, but if you can't be civil don't bother.

**A/N**: This is a rewrite. I was reading through this with my husband and found a lot of errors and plotlines that my fifteen-year-old self didn't catch. Enjoy!

Based on the _Laws and Customs of the Eldar_ section of _Morgoths' Ring_ and a little simple math, a pair of sixteen year old Elflings would be about the same size and have the same view of the world as a seven year old human.

_Italics_ – thoughts, prayers, flashbacks. It should be clear which is which.

All speech is in Sindarin unless otherwise noted in-text.

ALSO, one final note: I had a reviewer ask why I didn't write Gilraen instead of/as well as Celebrían. My answer is simple: I do not know enough of Gilraen to do her justice as a character. Humans have rather unpredictable natures; I recall reading once that "the human race is too diverse to really even be considered one species', and I fully agree. Human personalities can differ greatly; Elven personalities are more predictable, and Celebrían is also mentioned more than once throughout Tolkien's works.

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><p>"Which is why, my sons, your father and I tell you to stay within the places we know you're safe," Celebrían finished, laughing melodically as her two small boys nodded so vigorously they almost toppled to the ground. She had been telling the twins a story from long ago, about a small Elfling who was about their size. He liked to explore as much as Elladan and Elrohir, and had gone into the forest all alone. He was lost, alone, and scared for several days before his family found him, and he had gotten into a great deal of trouble because of his disobedience.<p>

Elladan and Elrohir flopped onto their back next to their mother, staring at the clouds for a few moments. It was calm and cool in Celebrían's garden, and the hot summer weather was finally settling back to comfortable fall. As a stray cloud wafted in front of the sun, momentarily obscuring it, Elladan's smile faded.

"Mama?" he asked after a moment, sitting up. Elladan and Celebrían both looked to him.

"Yes, Elrohir?" Celebrían asked after a moment, in which Elrohir was lost in thought. She smiled as his eyes snapped to her face.

"Is it going to rain?" the child tilted his head and looked at the sky. Before Celebrían could answer, Elladan cuffed his brother sharply over the head.

"Of course it is, silly! That's what clouds are for," Elladan said sensibly, ignoring his mother's scolding. "Mama, nothing will get us in the valley, will it?" his small voice was worried, and Celebrían pulled him into an embrace.

"No, my son, nothing will get you in this valley. It is very safe here, but if an adult tells you not to go somewhere or not to do something, you need to listen, or you might get hurt. Your father and I will always protect you, but you need to listen so that we can."

As she finished, Elladan's face screwed up in thought, and she had to smile. His thoughtful scowl was identical to his father's, with a slight hint of her own face mixed in. His dark hair tickled his nose in the breeze, and he wrinkled it before saying, "Mama?"

"Yes, Elladan?"

"I will always protect you and ada too. I promise." The little boy's voice was very serious and he grasped his mother's hand firmly as he nodded. Standing unseen in the archway to the garden, Elrond smiled. Elladan could be headstrong and stubborn when he wanted to, but underneath, he was a good child.

"Thank you, Elladan," Celebrían replied, squeezing his hand back and pulling both him and his brother into an embrace. Elrohir muttered around a mouthful of his mother's golden hair, and Elrond knew that he had repeated his brother's promise. Celebrían buried her face in her children's hair. "Thank you, boys. I'm sure your father and I shall never have need for worry, because we have our brave sons to protect us. Now, I hear two little stomachs growling. Why don't we go in for supper?" Celebrían asked, taking the hands of both her sons and turning. Surprise flitted across her face as she noticed her husband in the archway, smiling broadly.

"Daddy! Were you there the whole time?" Elladan asked loudly, dashing to Lord Elrond. Elrond crouched to better receive the child, catching and lifting him in one fluid motion before placing him on his hip.

"Yes, Elladan, I was, but I did not want to disturb you two and your mother," Elrond replied, placing his forehead to the child's. "Now, let us go sup, and perhaps you may stay awake a little later than usual in the Hall of Fire tonight. Remember, our guests from Lothlórien will arrive later this evening."

Both Elflings released a joyful little cry, Elladan hopping out of his father's arms and challenging his brother to a race to the house.

As the children ran ahead, Celebrían smiled, stepping lightly to her husband and enveloping him in an embrace. "The innocence of children…let us hope they need never act upon the promises they made today," she stated.


	2. Chapter Two

**A New Love**

**By**: Elenaiel

**Rating**: PG 13 (T)

**Warnings**: AU. Angst, blood, and drama.

**Summary**: What would've happened if Celebrían had been rescued in time? Arwen never resided in Lórien. Estel resides with two foster-parents instead of one. The twins never lost their innocence. The future of Middle-Earth is altered forever, and we can only watch as its inhabitants attempt to adjust.

**Spoilers**: None.

**Disclaimer**: I am playing in Tolkein's sandbox. I do not make money or get compensation of any sort for writing this. I own only the plotline.

**Feedback**: elenaiel (at) rocketmail (dot) com (or the review button typically works well). Constructive criticism is welcome, but if you can't be civil don't bother.

**A/N**: This is a rewrite. I was reading through this with my husband and found a lot of errors and plotlines that my fifteen-year-old self didn't catch. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"Elrond! Come quickly!" Glorfindel's urgent shout rang through the corridors of the House of Elrond. In a flash, the Lord of Rivendell appeared in his nightwear, hastening toward his golden friend as he pulled a dressing gown over himself. Even though Elrond was above Glorfindel in rank in his own city, the Balrog-Slayer had been a Captain of Gondolin and was even now a Captain of the Imladris Guard; his voice had been fine-tuned for giving orders millennia ago, and everyone within hearing range carried out his commands.<p>

Members of the house staff were nimbly dashing about, lighting sconces; several stood around a small tangle of men, supporting some who were wounded and taking a litter from several others. The person on the litter did not look well at all, and Glorfindel stayed with him as he was taken to the infirmary.

"Elladan, Elrohir!" Elrond called for his sons as he looked over the rest of the group. None of the ten or so standing in front of him was uninjured, and more were being helped into the house. Injured horses were being led to the stables, visible through the open doors of the entrance hall. The dark night of the valley was set ablaze with fires kindled and candles lit everywhere in the Last Homely House.

A pair of identical faces appeared in the crowd several moments later. One began calling out to those able to move on their own, directing them first to the infirmary and then to beds. The other set to work, moving between the wounded and attending to those who needed it most urgently.

As the twins worked among the less severely wounded, staunching blood-flow and binding wounds where needed, Elrond followed the man on the stretcher to a private room.

He was bleeding freely from his nose and mouth, and a relatively large gash decorated his chest, exposing part of his breastbone. An arrow protruded from his thigh, the wound ragged, as if the arrow had been torn down. Glorfindel cut away the man's clothing, tsking as he went. Elrond frowned and began gathering herbs that would aid clotting as another healer began to pack the chest wound with gauze. At his touch, the injured man began flailing his arms wildly, his eyes half-opened and clouded with pain.

"My lord," the healer began as he applied pressure to the chest wound with one hand and restrained the man's thrashing arm with the other. "I believe his wounds are poisoned. His blood is not clotting as it should, and he is feverish."

Elrond sighed, then took a deep breath and plunged himself into a healing trance. Beneath his touch, the injured man quieted, and Elrond took over his care. Carefully, he removed the soiled gauze from the gaping wound; he noted that the other healer was right. Direct pressure had had no effect on the rate of blood loss, and the man's blood itself was thin and darker than usual.

"Glorfindel, bring a pot to boil, please. Fallanaer," he called another healer to him as the first moved to another wounded man, "fetch some athelas and bring it to me, as well as some agarapsa1`, and then begin working on that arrow wound." Fallanaer bustled away, into the storeroom, returning within seconds with the requested items and a large quantity of bandages and setting to work on the man's wounded leg. Elrond crushed the athelas and agarapsa, adding a small amount of water to make a paste that he applied to the man's wound. When he was done, he handed the paste to Fallanaer, who applied it to the arrow wound. Slowly, the bleeding ebbed. The healing herbs, which were continually being introduced into his system, had begun to take effect. As he looked outside, Elrond noted that nearly an hour had passed, and the eastern sky was beginning to lighten slightly.

The twins, with the help of several other healers, had taken care of most of the wounded men. Now that the worst of them were stitched and bound, minor hurts could be addressed; while Elladan saw to these slight injuries, Elrohir strode to his father's side.

"Ada, how fares this one? His companions are asking after him constantly; he must be well loved among them," he observed. Elrond nodded thoughtfully, then replied as he finished with the man's chest.

"He is still walking upon the borders of this world, but we have done all we can for him right now." He sighed, running a bloodstained hand across his face.

"What happened to them?" Elladan wondered, appearing suddenly beside his brother. The identical faces could be told apart only by the blood on Elladan's cheek, which was absent from his brother.

"Elladan, the blood on your face is not your own?" Elrond questioned, reaching towards his sons' face. Elladan shook his head and wiped it away, revealing no injury.

"One of the men," he stated, shrugging. His father's face grew pensive as he glanced at the man lying on the bed, and he motioned his sons back to the main sickroom.

"Master Elf…" one of the men, a particularly large one, whispered in Westron as Elrond passed his bedroll. "Master…" Elrond stopped, stooping by the man's head. He waited for the man to catch his breath before motioning for him to continue. "There are Orcs in the Misty Mountains, not far from here…we were traveling…with a much larger company, but many...have been slain or taken captive…" he whispered, pausing several times to breathe through obvious pain.

"Orcs?" Elrond was disturbed by the news. His wife, Celebrían, and daughter, Arwen, were in the mountains, on their way to Lothlórien.

"Yes, many Orcs…I do not know the exact number. They were headed toward…Redhorn pass…they left us only yestereve….and took many of our own with them." Elrond turned to one of the twins, bidding his son to find a pain relieving draught, before speaking.

"That is ill news," Elrond murmured, his heart falling fast. He looked out the window at the pre-dawn sky, then turned to Elrohir. "Elrohir, how soon can the both of you set out? Your mother and Arwen will reach Caradhras within a few days, and I do not believe they have enough warriors to defend them should a band of Orcs come upon them. You will ride as soon as possible, and ride hard to catch them; any men that are found are to be brought here, whether for treatment or burial," he spoke in the Grey-Elf Tongue to hide their conversation. Elladan's sharp ears picked up the conversation from where he stood, ten paces away, and it was he who replied.

"We shall set forth in one hour; send word to the stable and kitchens that horses and provisions are to be made ready." Both twins were worried for their mother and sister; they were fair and valiant ladies, but ladies they remained, and they had but ten warriors with them.

Elrond nodded and turned back to the human. "Did these Orcs possess any captives? Where, precisely, were you when this happened?" He spoke quietly, using the Common Tongue. The man shook his head with a bit of effort.

"We were crossing the northernmost paths of the High Pass. I do not believe there were any captives with them, but the chaos was enough to have caused a man to miss an Oliphaunt."

Elrond sighed deeply, causing the man to ask if he had offended the Elf somehow. Surprised, Elrond answered, "No, you have not. A small group of my own are crossing Caradhras – what you call Redhorn – and I will not suffer them taken or slain. My sons," he gestured to the twins, "and my Captain shall lead a party of Imladris' finest warriors hence within the hour. Your men will be found and returned. Now, you will rest, and I will tend to your injured once more." The man smiled gratefully and closed his eyes, asleep in seconds thanks to the pain draught he had just received. Elrond moved to check on the human with the chest wound once more. Glorfindel was still resting lightly on his heels next to him.

"Glorfindel," Elrond's voice was grave, "I must ask that you ride out in one hour. Elladan and Elrohir will also go. Take a strong, capable company with you. Should you find live men, you will bring them back; the dead shall be treated with utmost respect and care." He lowered his voice and leaned in, "My friend, Arwen and Celebrían are out there. You must find them as soon as possible. I must remain here to tend the wounded," he motioned to the man lying unconscious beside them.

"I understand why you would stay here. I will go, and travel to Lothlórien with Celebrían and Arwen if necessary. Trust that this threat will be disposed of," Glorfindel said, rising. Elrond rose also, and clasped his friend's forearm.

"Thank you, Glorfindel," he whispered quietly in Sindarin, for his friend and protector's ears only. Glorfindel simply nodded and set off towards the stables. Several horses had been taken on the Lady's journey, but some of the speediest remained in Imladris. It was these horses that Glorfindel ordered the nearest grooms to make ready for journey.

Elrohir and Elladan gathered supplies and provisions as Glorfindel roused his most trusted warriors. There were many who would go for the Lady of Imladris and her fair Evenstar.

"Glorfindel," Elrond called as the Elves mounted up. He hurried into the courtyard as Glorfindel turned his horse, tilting his head. Elrond's brow was furrowed, and his eyes filled with unease.

"Elrond. What is it?"

"Take care, my friend. If anything has happened to their mother or sister, I fear for my sons. Elladan has a quite a temper, but it is just as rapidly extinguished as formed. Elrohir's anger is not so easily placated. They are still young, and both remain vulnerable to rage…do not allow them to do anything they will regret," Elrond spoke quietly. Glorfindel nodded and clasped Elrond swiftly on the shoulder before trilling a loud whistle. At his signal, the gathering of Elves surged forward, thundering out the Gates of Imladris under the first rays of light.


	3. Chapter Three

It was a long ride from Imladris to Caradhras. The large party of Elves gone after Lady Celebrían and her daughter rode hard for an entire day, stopping only when their horses needed a rest, even eating on horseback. The second day dawned on an anxious camp, and as soon as the sun showed its first signs of rising, the Elves set off once more. On the third day, desperation could be tasted in the air.

Finally, Caradhras was in view, and to the dismay of the Elves, dark forms littered the ground. Alarmed, Elladan and Elrohir dismounted their tiring horses and sprinted to the sight.

Ten Elves had gone with the Lady Celebrían and her daughter, bringing the total to twelve, and all were trained warriors. Even Celebrían and Arwen had skill with the blade and the bow, having been instructed by their male family and protectors. However, netiher Lady would have long been able to defend themselves against more than a few Orcs, and ten warriors were too little to protect against such a large party as they had been informed of.

As they approached, the twins could see at least thirty bodies, as well as all fifteen horses that had gone with the Elven party. Elladan's heart raced, pounding in his ears; Elrohir's breathing was becoming increasingly audible. Any Orcs left in the area would have had no difficulty detecting them; fortunately, or unfortunately considering the circumstances, there were no Orcs anywhere near the Elves.

Dashing between blood-covered corpses, trying to find their own, Elladan and Elrohir were soon joined by Glorfindel and several other Elves from their search party. Within moments, a few Elven bodies had been discovered and removed from the scene.

"Elladan, Elrohir!" came a quick, sharp cry. Glorfindel stood several yards to the left of the twins, stooped over a seemingly lifeless body. The body in question was not fully visible to the pair, but as they hurried closer, they realized that it – she- was dressed in the same clothing their sister had packed.

"Arwen…" Elladan murmured. Fear was evident in his eyes, and pain. "I should never have let them come."

"Elladan, she lives yet, but I fear she is treading closer and closer to the very edge of our world," Glorfindel said gravely, tilting the young Elf Maid's head to check the bloody gash running across the side of her head. The deep incision was still oozing blood, albeit very slowly, and ran from her right temple to the back of her head, a length of six inches. "Apparently, the Orcs took her for dead. She needs your father, as soon as we can return her."

"I shall ride back with her immediately," Elrohir said firmly. Worry and panic tainted his voice and it was obvious the Elf was terrified. He knelt, shaking, on the stony ground and prepared to lift his sister to a safer place to treat her as best he could. Glorfindel stopped him, stating that he was one of the finest archers among the company, and he would certainly be needed before the end. Elrohir was not so easy to convince, but after a few well-directed arguments, he finally gave in.

"Fine, Glorfindel, I shall stay with the main party while another takes Arwen home. However, she needs medical assistance NOW or she won't REACH home!" his voice shaky, and with that, he swept her prone form up, wincing at the obvious break in her lower leg. Anguish swept through his heart and he found himself blinking back tears at the thought of his wonderful sister attacked and left for death. Hatred burned in his veins, poisoning his mind with thoughts of revenge.

Within a few moments, Elrohir was given another patient. He had been cleansing Arwen's head wound when the others had shouted, stating they'd found a live Elf, but he was badly hurt. It was Calilmal, Lady Celebrían's personal servant. He would have given his life for his Lady; obviously, he had almost succeeded. The Elf bore several long, shallow cuts, and a gruesomely split temple where he had been tapped with the pommel of a knife or dagger. One cleanly sliced cut ran from his left ear to his right shoulder. It had missed his jugular by a hair.

Elrohir yelled for aid and another first aid pack; he felt two skid into his leg within seconds, and his brother joined him kneeling on the hard, uneven rock of the mountain path. He had mixed up all the herbs he could for Arwen that didn't require hot water, and there was a pot on a small, hastily kindled fire, just beginning to boil. He would need much more for Calilmal, however.

Hastily but carefully winding the bandage about his sister's head, Elrohir took a deep breath before he turned to Calilmal. The Elf-servant did not look well at all. His breathing was shallow and infrequent, and his pulse too slow. Elrohir doubted for a moment as to whether he could be saved, but all thoughts were quickly pushed to the back of his mind. Neither twin had their father's skill in healing, but they were still more than competent, and both had their mother's stubborn streak. They would not give up.

The open wound on Calilmal's temple proved to be the most serious; a hairline fracture was visible through the torn skin. The long gashes would need to be stitched, but not because they were deep; rather, they were so long that they pulled themselves open wider. Calilmal was a skilled fighter, having fought in the Last Alliance with Lord Elrond before dedicating himself to his lady. He looked as though he had been concentrating deeply, and simply not stood still long enough to become a functional target. Each slash made at him resulted in a miss, or perhaps a foot-long, shallow cut as he whirled out of the way. The twins admired the Elf's skill, honed over several thousand years.

As Elladan began working on Calilmal, carefully cleaning, stitching, and bandaging the head wound before he turned to the cuts, Elrohir returned his attention to Arwen.

Her lower leg was swollen so badly that her slender calf was almost the size of her thigh; it was bent at an odd angle, and her toes rotated inward almost completely. It was too swollen to get a good enough feel to set the bones; still, Elrohir had to try if she was to be moved. He manipulated her foot and ankle until they looked as though they were in line with the rest of her leg, and he could no longer see the bulges from the broken bones. He felt once more along where the fracture was, listening for the soft crackle of the bones grinding and hearing none.

Satisfied but still worried, Elrohir splinted and bound Arwen's leg, checking her over for any more injures. He found none, save uncounted nicks and bruises. Sighing, he reluctantly picked her up and placed her on the back of a silver-white mare whose Elf was already waiting to receive his sister. As he took his hand off of Arwen, he heard his brother curse repeatedly.

Calilmal had succumbed to his injuries.

Nine other bodies were found, and laid in a small, sheltered cave, which was barricaded against roaming scavengers. It appeared as though all of the Elves with the Lady of Imladris had been slaughtered, save Arwen. The Lady herself was still missing.

With grim faces, fifteen warriors, homeward bound, rode out. They stayed in formation around Arwen, moving slowly enough so as not to further her injuries. As they left, the twins gathered the remaining forces – still a sizable group – and led them down a path covered in vague but fresh Orcish footprints. The sun was low overhead, casting a blood-red glow on all those present.

"This is an ominous show of color," Elladan remarked dryly, gazing at the dirt of the path. He had been unusually silent and steely since the men had arrived in Imladris; the fire in his eyes was even greater than usual. Elrohir was even more striking; the quieter, more subdued twin currently matched his brother in intensity. It was a rare thing to the younger Elf to get agitated enough to be rash, but he looked as though he were almost there. Glorfindel sighed quietly; he would have to contain not one, but both of them if he was to fulfill Elrond's request.

Within two hours, the party of Orcs had been found. The number was estimated at around fifty, though more had obviously bene present when first the men, then Lady Celebrían and her party, were attacked. Around twenty men were visible in chains in the camp; five or six were already dead, and another four were well on their way. The rest would make it, if given aid soon enough.

One area of the camp seemed to be particularly populated; Orcs gathered next to the largest fire in the small, sparsely wooded glen on the mountainside. Staring intently, Glorfindel could barely make out the figure of a female, the firelight and final rays of the sun reflecting brilliantly off of her golden hair…

His heart nearly stopped. He immediately thought of the oath he had taken so many years ago, upon his return to middle earth: he had sworn to protect Elrond, son of Eärendil, and his family. Currently, he was failing that oath; it did not require much of his hearing to hear the snap of the whip and the soft cry of the Lady. She was strong – she would not scream – but the Orcs had given themselves the task of torturing her until she broke.

Swiftly retrieving the rest of the Elves from several meters away, Glorfindel quickly formed a plan. They would be outnumbered at least two-to-one, but it was their only chance to save Celebrían.

Elladan had remained startlingly impassive when he heard his mother's cries for the first time. Elrohir, on the other hand, had been enraged, almost dashing in on his own.

"NO! Elrohir, we **cannot** afford to spoil this! This will be our only chance; we cannot afford to have you taken, and the rest of us found and killed! Restrain yourself, before I am forced to!" Glorfindel whispered vehemently, using an incapacitating pressure point on the back of the younger Elf's neck to hold him still.

Once Elrohir settled a bit, the group tensed. "Three...two...ONE!" Glorfindel whispered, and the Elves rushed forward silently, catching the Orcs by surprise.

"ATTACK!" a small Orc in a tree, apparently a scout, yelled, jumping on one of the Elves. The Elf fell to the ground, and was dead before he knew it.

The rest of the Orcs were soon at attention. With a great cry they hurled themselves at the Elves, who fought valiantly, though they were outnumbered. It was not long before bodies littered the ground, both bodies of Orcs, and of some few Elves who had fallen.

"Ammë!" Elrohir shouted as he and his brother shot the final two Orcs. He dropped his bow and ran to her side...the first part of the battle had been won.

"Elrohir," Celebrían breathed, her eyes wide. She had been taken around noon; it was now dusk. How had her sons known she was in trouble so soon? How had they gotten to her so quickly? It had taken the Orcs until late afternoon to get to where they were now. Having no reason to believe they were being trailed, they had moved at a leisurely pace, and the battle in which Celebrían had been captured had taken an hour or two. They had barely had time to begin tormenting her!

_Ilúvatar must be watching over me,_ she thought as her sons began to untie her. Though there had not been much time, Celebrían still had many wounds. Several lacerations decorated her torso and arms where they had sought to bring her down during the battle, and whip-marks graced her back and sides. Her dress had been shredded, but overall, she was in fair condition. No poison had been found, and her wounds could be treated with relative ease...

...Unnoticed, a small group of Orcs made its way down the mountainside, towards the twenty or so Elves gathered around the dying fire.

Nolaquen raised his hand, singling the Elves under his command to stop. Carefully handing Arwen down to a waiting warrior, he dismounted and gave orders to make camp in a clearing. Arwen had begun to stir, but her head wound was severe and would require much more attention to fully heal.

They had gotten far in the last few hours, away from Caradhras. The day was living its final moments, now, giving way to night.

For a moment, sitting next to Arwen on a cloak on the ground, Nolaquen wondered about the rest of the Elves, the ones they'd left behind. Had they found the Lady Celebrían? Or the Orcs? Were they even still alive? His spirit was ill at ease; something was not right, though he could not tell what.

Elrond stood on his balcony in the red sunlight. He had barely slept in the last three days, devoting his time to caring for the injured men instead. He had just taken his leave of them, starting to eat a bit, when an alarm went off in his head; something was wrong, he could feel it. He could only hope it was not his wife or children who were in such absolute, immediate danger.

_Elbereth, hear me, watch over them, please_, he silently prayed with all his might, releasing his cry to the stars. He turned to go back inside, stopping to watch his father's slow progress across the night sky. _Ada, protect them._


End file.
